This City is Turning Into Cinders
by fadingtales
Summary: Klaroline set in the 1920s, a time of speakeasies, bootleg liquor, jazz and the criminals who made it all possible: the mob. Oneshot.


**Title: **This City is Turning into Cinders

**Author**: fadingtales

**Fandom**: The Vampire Diaries

**Rating**: PG-13

**Ship**: Klaus/Caroline

**Summary**: Klaroline set in the 1920s, a time of speakeasies, bootleg liquor, jazz and the criminals who made it all possible, the mob.

A/N: This is me, hijacking one of Kristina's (candicemorgans) drabble requests on tumblr. I just enjoy TVD 1920s mob AU too much to resist. As always, thank you to Paige (skerdypants). For she is the one that has to slough through my horrible mistakes and fix them so you can get at least a semi-decent read. Below is the fruit of her labor. I hope you enjoy.

It's been two years since he moved to the city and five years since Prohibition began. The clubs and the speakeasies gathered romantics and daydreamers by the dozens. All seeking the allure of something forbidden, something illicit. And that was exactly the two things that he knew best to capitalize on.

He might be a new kid on the block, but it wasn't his first rodeo. He's been smuggling bootleg absinthe up and down the Missouri river for his old man since he could walk and talk. The Mikaelsons were well-known in St. Louis for two things: liquor and guns.

As mob families went, his was up there on the list. And as the third son in the family, he could do well to follow in the family business. But he could stand being in dear old dad's shadows for only so long. He wanted a place of his own and Chicago seemed as good as any.

It didn't matter that everybody knew Chicago belonged to the Forbes clan. His family had an unspoken agreement with Bill Forbes, the resident boss, to stay on their respective side of the river. Bill wasn't a man who tolerated upstarts in his territory, but then again, neither did his father. But Nik was always something of a rebel.

"You go out there and you're going to get yourself killed, boy."

Those were his father's last words to him before he picked up his suitcase and slammed the door shut behind him, never looking back. If anything, it only wanted to make him prove the old man wrong.

xxx

Two years pass, and he's still standing and breathing. He'd rub it in dear old dad's face, but that would mean he'd actually have to talk to him. For now, he'll just revel in his glory.

His club, which fronted as a law office upstairs, was the place to be for good booze and a good time. He'd been ruthless and fought tooth and nail for his section of Chicago, and he kept it in business with a frightening balance of charisma and intimidation. He'd put together a very loyal crew, consisting of not only bartenders and cabaret singers, but Chicago's best muscles and trained guns. For all intents and purposes, he manned a well-oiled organization.

"Where the hell is Gloria?"

At least most of the time. A shipment had gone late tonight, trouble with the Forbes gang continued to be a thorn in his side, and he was in a temperamental mood. The staff scrambled out of his way as he marched through the doors.

"I don't pay her to sit around and do her nails. I pay her to entertain my guests, so why the hell is there nobody up on stage sing-"

He stops mid-rant and stares up at the stage. People talk of love at first sight, but he had always thought that notion was idiotic and pathetically romantic at best. And Nik had always been a realist and, more often than not, pragmatic. He didn't dally with fantasies. Still, she was a beautiful girl and he always had an appreciation for beauty.

"You like her? Her name's Caroline."

Suddenly, Gloria was beside him, sauntering in with a cigarette between her lips. He narrows his eyes at her and she merely smiles.

"Why aren't you singing?" He growls, though most of his temper has died down.

"I thought I'd give the new girl a try. See how the crowd likes her," Gloria says, batting her eyelashes innocently.

He gives her a disapproving look, but she rolls her eyes and gestures towards the stage. "You're not watching."

The girl, Caroline, is stepping up to the microphone now, nodding to musicians behind her for them to begin playing. The piano starts first and then the rest soon comes in tow. She sways a little, her eyes hooded, a tiny smile on her lips as she got into the rhythm of the song and then…

_There's a saying old says that love is blind.*_

Her voice fills the air, and he doesn't need Gloria's chastisement to turn back to the stage. He's already riveted.

She's pretty in a golden sort of way, with her blonde hair and blue eyes and slinky dress that looks much too expensive for a mere cabaret singer to afford.

_There's a somebody I'm longing to see._  
><em>I hope that he turns out to be…<em>  
><em>Someone to watch over me.*<em>

"Who is she?" His question is directed to Gloria, but his eyes remain fixed to the stage.

Gloria sighs and shakes her head. "Forbes's daughter."

He turns to Gloria then, his eyes wide.

"But don't worry, I didn't tell her about you."

He turns his attention back to the stage where Caroline Forbes, the daughter of his biggest nemesis, was serenading his club.

She closes her eyes halfway through the song and when she opens them again their eyes meet across the crowded restaurant. She holds his gaze, as if daring him to question her presence.

He ends up being the one to look away first when Gloria turns to him and says in a very smug tone, "Close your mouth, Nik, or flies will fly in."

He glares at Gloria, who only giggles in response.

"She's a good singer," he admits reluctantly, to which Gloria quirks an eyebrow in his direction.

"Somebody sounds smitten."

"Don't you have work to do?" he drawls.

Gloria shrugs. "Don't get too attached, Nik. She's probably just here to piss off the old man. Rich, sheltered girl looking for some thrills," Gloria warns before sashaying away.

When he turns back to the stage, he sees that she's already finished with her song. She's bending over to whisper thanks to the piano player and when she looks back up, their eyes meet again. Her silent challenge is still there, her eyes flickering in the light like blue flames. Something tells him that there's more to her than just another pampered, spoiled brat playing with fire. He should have known then that she would be trouble.

xxx

She's saucy and clever and he finds that he thinks of her much too often for comfort. When it's not her image branding the insides of his eyelids, it's the ghost of her songs playing inside his head on a loop.

It didn't help that as tension between his gang and her father's grew, she began frequenting his club more and more often. She was a flirt and danger seemed to be her favorite dancing partner. She has a sharp tongue and sometimes the urge to strangle her wars with the urge to kiss her.

He begins to wonder whether or not Bill sent her here himself as a spy. If perhaps the reason why she was here was to seduce him, despite what Gloria said about her ignorance to the true business behind the club. The more he thought of it, the bitterer he became, and he began to see her every gesture as a double entendre. Paranoid thinking, yes, but it's what has kept him alive for so long.

So he ignores her and stops showing up at the club when he knew she would be there. He thought if he didn't seek her out, the feelings would stop and he'd regain control again.

He didn't think she'd seek him out herself.

She shows up on his doorstep, drenched in rain, her usually perfectly curled hair hung straight and damp, sticking to her forehead.

"Are you going to let me in?"

Her tone is haughty, and she looks at him defiantly, much like she did when they first met, despite the fact that she looked very much like a drowned rat. If she wasn't busy hugging her arms to her chest, he was certain she'd place them on her hips in that patronizing manner of hers.

He notices, however, that underneath her cavalier attitude she was shivering. Her thin crème dress did not provide much warmth against the heavy shower outside. The fabric clung to her, slightly transparent because of all the water, and he can't help but wonder if she had planned it all. When he continues to stare, she begins to fidget nervously, losing her previous arrogance.

"Will you please let me in?" she amends, her voice now trembling a little. On closer inspection, he sees that her eyes are red-rimmed and dark circles line her eyes. He realizes then that perhaps the wet tracks running down her face might not be attributed to the rain.

So he steps back, opens the door wider to let her step through. Once situation inside, he goes to pour her a glass of whisky to chase the cold.

"Why aren't you at the club anymore?" she asks as she takes a sip from the glass he hands her.

"I've been busy," he replies.

She's seated on the edge of his bed and so he places himself opposite of her, his back towards the window.

"You've been avoiding me."

He doesn't say anything, and she takes his silence as confirmation.

"It's because of my dad, isn't it? It's _always_ because of him. Even if I run away, his ghost follows me. I can't escape. Except…"

"Except what?"

She had been looking down at her hands, fiddling with one of his cigarette lighters that she found on his night stand. But she meets his eyes when she answers.

"Except when I'm at the club, singing for you."

He stares back at her and for a long moment, the only sound is that of the rain's pitter patter outside. She suddenly blushes a bright pink, feeling flustered under his steady gaze.

She gets up abruptly and he stands as well.

"I better go. I didn't mean to just barge in. I was just upset and, I don't know… I just thought… Never mind. I better go."

But when she turns to leave, his hand reaches out to encircle her wrists.

"Why did you come here? Are you here to spy on me?"

She blinks at him and answers, "Spy on what?"

He doesn't know if she's just playing dumb or she actually didn't know who he really was.

"You're a mystery, you know."

She shakes her head and smiles at him. "If you think that way, then you're over thinking it too much. I'm not a complicated girl, Nik. What you see is what you get."

He contemplates her statement for a moment before releasing her.

"You haven't finished your drink yet."

It's a sorry excuse, but when he holds out her half drunken glass of whisky she takes it from him and backs away from the door.

xxx

When they finally kiss, it comes naturally. As if both of them had been waiting for this moment all along.

He backs her towards the edge of his bed and pins her body underneath his, his lips warming her cold ones.

She sighs contentedly against his skin and he lets his guard down, despite his best efforts to resist. If seduction was her intention, then she was doing an amazing job.

Her damp dress is soaking his sheets and so he removes them. She doesn't complain.

Their bodies fit together like jigsaw pieces. He might blame the alcohol the next morning for this foolishness, but for now he'll throw reason out the window.

If he woke up tomorrow with a knife in his back, at least he'd have one less regret. He'll have the memory of her pressed against him, her lips murmuring his name into the darkness.

There are no physical wounds that he could find upon the morning. Unless you count the scratches she left on his back. But the place beside him is cold and empty, and he's feeling irrationally upset that she'd left without a word.

His anger is short-lived when he finds her in his kitchen, wearing nothing but his white button-up shirt. It reaches her thighs and the sleeves hang past her fingers. She's staring off into the distance through the window, a coffee mug in her hands, looking very much at home in his apartment. He finds he rather likes the pretty picture she makes sitting amongst his belongings.

"I thought you left."

She turns to him then, a smile on her face.

"It's still raining," she answers.

Her excuse is only slightly better than his, but he'll take it.

xxx

Of course, bliss is always short-lived. Within a week, he's had several hits on him, narrowly dodging bullets as he made his way to the club in the evenings. He's actually shocked that it took good ole Bill this long to discover just what his daughter has been up to. She had been singing at his club for over a month; she's been sleeping in his bed for at least two weeks.

He sends out a hit team of his own, and everything soon escalates into a mass of violence and bloodshed. War was on the horizon, and more than once he's been questioned about whether she was worth it. He's lost more than a few good men, but the answer is always yes.

She's worth more than anything in this damned city.

xxx

He comes back to the apartment to see her tearing the place apart, a suitcase halfway packed. He sees a note he'd written to one of his men sitting beside it. The words were cryptic, but she was clever enough to read between the lines.

She must have found out about his crew's plans to raid the Forbes's warehouse that evening, realizing just what the "M" after his name stood for. He was hoping he'd be able to keep her preoccupied while everything went down and explain it to her properly.

"Where are you going?" he growls.

"I don't know! Anywhere but here!"

She's finished stuffing her things into her bag and hastily throws it over her shoulder only to turn around and find him beside her. He had crossed the room so swiftly, she didn't even have time to blink.

He grasps her wrists and shakes her.

"Stop."

She tries tearing them out of his grasp, but his hold is firm.

"Let go of me!"

He strips her of her belongings, tossing the bag full of her personal items to the floor.

"No!"

She slaps him then, hard across the cheek. She bets her hand stings more than his face. That's how thickheaded he was.

"You should've told me. You should've told me who you were!"

He ignores the sting from her slap and holds her hands again, his grip on her wrists tight but not hard enough to hurt.

"Don't pretend. You knew exactly who you were getting in bed with."

If he wasn't holding onto her hands then, he's sure she would've slapped him again.

"Does it make a difference?" he asks.

"Of course it does! You knew who _I_ was! How could you not tell me who you were?"

"You never asked."

The sorry excuses won't work this time.

Her flare of anger made it possible for her to wrench her hands out of his grasp. She turns her back towards him, but he grabs her waist and pulls her towards him, holding her flush against his body. She struggles against him, but he bends his head down so that his lips could brush against her ear.

"You should've told me," she continues to protest, though she has since stopped thrashing against him.

"Would that have made a difference?" he asks again, echoing his earlier question.

She's silent now, still in his arms except for the rise and fall of her chest.

"Because it doesn't make a difference to me," he whispers into her ear before pressing a kiss just underneath her earlobe.

She closes her eyes and he can feel her body tensing, see how her jaw clenches even as he lays a trail of kisses along the side of it.

He turns her around slowly so that he can see her face. Her expression remains stony, but the fight was out of her eyes.

"Does it make a difference about how you feel about me?" he asks for the third time.

Several beats pass before she answers him.

"No."

While he never told her up front who he was, she had known it all the same. Even if she kept telling herself she didn't, ignored all the signs and played dumb. It was all just an excuse, they're always making up bad excuses, and it wasn't really fair. But she was selfish and in over her head, and it was easier to tell him it was his fault than to admit it to herself. But she knew. She knew the night she sauntered into his club what she was doing, where she was, and that she would be dancing with the devil. It didn't stop her then. But she can't pretend to be ignorant anymore.

"No, it doesn't change how I feel about you."

She sees a smile starting to tug the corner of his lips and it only makes her feel worse.

"I love you. I love you so much that without you, I feel like I would _drown_."

Her words are choked up and tears fall down her cheeks out of their own volition.

He takes a step forward to close the small space between them, his hands outstretched to stroke her tear-stained cheeks. She takes a step back in the same moment.

Caroline shakes her head and brushes away her own tears. "But it shouldn't be like that."

"You can't forgive me for who I am," he states, and he can't help but let the bitterness show through his tone.

Once again, she shakes her head. Only to contradict herself and say yes.

"But it's not just that. You're right, I shouldn't forgive you. I should hate you because of who you are and who _I _am. You've hurt people I care about. My father-," she faltersat the mention of Bill Forbes, and then starts again. "I shouldn't forgive you," she says adamantly. "But that's the problem. I _do_. I forgive you. But that's not right."

"You're not making any sense."

"I know. None of this makes sense. This is why…" she pauses and takes a deep breath to steady her voice. "This is why this is goodbye, Nik."

It doesn't matter then if the rain is pouring outside; she walks out the door all the same.

He doesn't see her again after that.

xxx

The club isn't the same. The booze is still flowing and Gloria continues to serenade the crowd, but everyone is on edge like the rope on a noose pulled taunt.

If she drowned without him, then he burned without her. It's evident in the way his temper flares more often, and the amount of cigarettes he goes through. And just because she left, it doesn't mean the violence stops. If anything, it adds fuel to the fire. Both sides lose men left and right. He's already lost count of how many.

He's with a few boys out on the town, heading to the docks to get a shipment, when he runs into her, the first time in weeks.

She's with her father and it looks like they are just coming from the theater nearby, flanked by several bodyguards. He catches her eye, and he holds her gaze for a moment before her father steps forward to block their line of sight.

"Good evening, Mr. Forbes," he greets with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. Behind him, his men tense and exchange looks with one another.

"Hello, Nik," the older man responds.

A long silence follows, and he has time to notice that one of Forbes's men, a dark-haired youth that he recalls being called Tyler Lockwood, is giving him the evil eye. He also notices that the young man was standing much closer to Caroline than necessary, his hand resting tentatively at the small of her back. Nik recalls placing kisses right at that exact spot. He smirks, which earns him more of the Lockwood boy's ire.

"Why don't you and your riffraff go elsewhere, Mikaelson," the boy taunts. "Chicago belongs to us."

This prompts both sides to engage in a slew of insults and angry slurs. When words escalate, hands reach inside jackets, curling around steel revolvers.

If this was another time, he'd be more than willing to have a shoot out with Forbes and his men. He's already mentally engraving Tyler Lockwood's name on one of his bullets. But it's neither the right time nor place, and he doesn't want her caught in the crossfire.

He raises his hands and tells his men to stand down, and despite their protests, they obey. Bill seems to have had come to the same conclusion and he, too, stills his men with a stern command. Once again, they fall into a tension-filled silence.

She's the one to break it this time. She gives him a small smile and places a hand on her father's arm.

"Come on, daddy. Let's go."

Bill fixes his stony glare back on Nik. There's a part in him that doesn't want to back down, especially not to some young smartass who had the audacity to engage in an affair with his daughter. But Caroline squeezes his arm again, and he realizes that any other action would result in carnage that he's not quite ready for. So, Bill decides to concede to his daughter's will and turns away.

As they are walking past, one of Nik's men mutters something along the lines of "pampered, backstabbing slut" in Caroline's direction. Before he can backhand the man himself, a shot is fired and all hell breaks loose.

Nik whips out his revolver and spares only a quick glance to see Tyler ushering Caroline behind a car for cover, before firing his own shots towards Forbes and his men.

A bullet grazes his shoulder, and he can hear her shouting his name in the distance over the roar of shouting and gunshots. He manages to take down two of Forbes's men - neither of which was Lockwood, unfortunately - before his gun runs out of bullets.

Somehow, he had manages to get separated from his men. He dives behind a few wooden crates that would do little to block the bullets, but it obscured him from view long enough to reload. He's managed to snap his barrel back into place and step out from behind the crates when he feels the cold steel of the point of a gun press against his head.

"Don't move."

Bill Forbes himself was holding the revolver aimed at his head.

"Drop your gun to the ground and no funny business."

He hesitates, his mind racing to think of a way out of his situation. The echo of the click of Bill's revolver resounding in his ears is a speedy motivator. He drops the gun to the floor, and Bill kicks it away.

"I should have killed you the moment you stepped foot into town," the older man growls.

He's about to retort when he hears the sound of heels clicking on pavement.

"Daddy, don't!"

Caroline had somehow broken free from Tyler's watch and was running towards them, her hair in complete disarray.

"Stay where you are, Caroline," Bill barks.

She ignores him despite the gunshots still going around her.

"Caroline, listen to what he says!" he shouts when he sees her narrowly duck a ricocheting bullet.

"You come any closer, Caroline, and I will put a bullet through his head right now."

She stops abruptly, a mere ten feet away from him. Her breath is ragged and her eyes are shiny, but from the ways her hands clench at her sides, they seem to be more like tears of anger than of sadness.

"You do that and I'll never forgive you! I'll never speak to you again!"

Bill Forbes's teeth clench and the point of his revolver presses harder into Nik's skull.

"What do you see in him? He's a Mikaelson!"

"I know."

"Do you know what he and his petty thugs have done to our people?"

"I know," she repeats.

"His existence threatens our entire livelihood, don't you get that? This is beyond your petty little rebellion, Caroline."

"I know that!" she screams. "I know, and I still love him! I love him! Why can't _you _understand that?"

Her confession renders her father speechless and Nik uses this moment to shove the revolver away. Bill quickly catches on and they wrestle for control.

It's so cliché. He should've seen it coming, but he didn't. He didn't think. And in the struggle, someone pulls the trigger. He doesn't even know who. But it doesn't matter.

The gun slips from their grasp and slides underneath a car. They both jostle for the other when they notice for the first time that Caroline was lying crumpled on the ground.

And then realization hit, and it was like the world stopped spinning on its axis. He forgets about the gun and Bill Forbes, and scrambles on his hands and knees towards her, ignoring the scratches and cuts he gets.

The bullet had found its mark in her heart, tearing through the muscle and tissue like little more than paper. She was probably dead before she even hit the ground.

He doesn't get a good-bye, doesn't get a parting word. Her eyes, the ones that used to burn like blue flames, were cold and lifeless. She stares up blankly at him like an empty shell.

Still, he pulls her to him, stroking her cheek, his hand pressed upon the wound on her chest as if he could still the blood flow. He tries talking to her as if she could still respond, as if she was still breathing. As if there was still a pulse in the hand he held. As if somehow, by sheer will, he can bring life back into her.

He doesn't notice then that the gunshots have stopped echoing, that the only thing breaking the silence was his sobs and his hysterical babbling.

xxx

They say when you're dying, your life will flash by. He wonders if it's the same for the grievers. Because in that moment, every lingering glance they shared, every touch, every kiss, every smile, and every frown bombard him. He's blinded by them. Or perhaps it was just the tears in his eyes that he doesn't bother wiping away that blurs her image.

He recalls one memory in particular, back when they had been foolishly happy, basking in the afterglow, her fingers entwined with his, their legs tangled in the sheets.

_"Do you believe in soul-mates, Nik?"_

_"I don't think I've even heard of that term," he admitted._

_She had sat up, resting on her elbows, and regarded him with furrowed brows._

_"You've never heard of soul-mates?" she had exclaimed, sounding rather incredulous._

_He had pulled her close then, and pressed a kiss under her jaw._

_"No, but perhaps you can tell me about them."_

_She had laughed when his stubble tickled her chin, and she pulled a little away to smile at him._

_"Well, supposedly when God created the first woman, Eve, he made her out of a piece of Adam's body. The bible says that piece was his rib," she had rolled her eyes then in that adorably impatient way of hers that made him grin, "but I think it was a piece of his soul. And so, every man and woman thereafter is born with a soul-mate, somebody out there with a piece of their soul. And we try our best to find that missing piece all our lives. Don't you think that makes so much more sense?"_

_"I didn't know you were such a religious girl."_

_She had scoffed at that. "Daddy goes to mass to make deals with his business partners. He thinks the church is the biggest front of them all, and he says that if there is a hell, then it was on earth."_

_He had smiled wryly at that._

_"But soul-mates are a nice idea, don't you think?"_

_He had chuckled then before kissing her passionately. When they finally pulled apart again, she smiled at him._

_"Are you my soulmate, Nik?"_

He wonders then if she was right. That their souls were knit, and when she died, a piece of him had died with her.

xxx

Bill Forbes kills himself two days after her funeral. He wasn't allowed to come, not that he would be sober enough to stand on his own two feet or anyone could get him out of his apartment anyhow.

His father sends him a telegram telling him that he's impressed with how he had managed to usurp the Forbes's hold over Chicago. He burns the telegram in the trash, and in the middle of the night, he burns his club down with it.

Books and movies glorify the twenties, romanticize it, make it sparkle and gleam with excitement, and all the danger was just part of the thrill. And maybe they're right, because that's just the way things were. And the bittersweet endings are fine for those who are merely audiences to the story. It's a different thing for those who had lived it. For them, Chicago in particular tasted of cinders.

—

* Lyrics from the song "Someone to Watch Over Me" by Ella Fitzgerald. Amy Winehouse also did a cover for this that I rather like as well.

A/N: Probably not my best work, and it's pretty similar to Puzzle Pieces and all the 1920s Klarolean stuff I've done on tumblr, but whatever. Just pretend that this is a slightly different alternative reality to the other klaroline 1920s alternate universes I've already done. I am only so creative. _ And yes, Caroline will always die. I don't know. I just can't think of a happy ending for the 1920s. I dare say I have a death muse on my shoulder.

Thank you for reading and I hope this piece just ripped up your soul just a little. =P I joke. But really, if I made you tear up just a little then I reached my goal. I'm a sadist like that. And let me know if you did tear up a little, or maybe you just plain hated it and want to curse at me, in the reviews/comments or just by liking this story on tumblr. I attribute every "like" as a teardrop. And like a creep I will keep them in a jar (metaphorically) to peer at. Thanks again for reading. =)


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